by Jiffy Kate
Like, I said, it’s hot.
“Just making sure,” I tell her, squeezing her to my side, keeping her from the throngs of people piling in the stadium.
She laughs. “I was raised in the south, you know? I know football.”
“But do you know LSU football?” I retort.
“No.” She shakes her head. “When my granny watched football, it was always Alabama.”
I quickly cover her mouth and whisper in her ear. “That’s blasphemy.”
She laughs behind my hand.
“I’m serious, Chuck. Keep that shit on the down low. As of today, you’re an LSU fan. You’ve always been an LSU fan. Mike the Tiger was your favorite animal. May he rest in peace.” I pause for a second to save Dani from a group of drunk frat boys not paying attention and about to trample her. And then I’d have to kick their asses and we’d miss the whole game. When they get past us, I continue, “You dream of a gold and purple wedding. And on the day you were born the Tigers won.”
“They did?” she asks with a perplexed look over the top of her sunglasses.
“I don’t know, but that’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”
She cracks up laughing, tossing her head back.
“It’s go time, Chuck. Are you ready for Death Valley?”
She shakes her head at me, still laughing, but when we step out into the sea of gold and purple she gasps. “Wow.”
“Right?” I ask, sighing. “It’s a glorious sight.” That’s selling it a bit short for me. Stepping out into the bright Louisiana sunshine on a fall day at Tiger Stadium is damn near a religious experience. I definitely feel God shining down on us today, waving His Geaux Tigers flag proudly.
Dani and I find our seats, excusing ourselves until we get to the two open spots. She never looks at me again for the rest of the game. Her eyes are trained on the field and if they’re not on the field, they’re on the band. And if not the band, then she’s searching out the tiger. She’s completely engrossed and I fall in love with her a little bit more.
On our way back to the truck, I think about bringing up the situation with Alex, but I don’t want to ruin this perfect day. And I’m still nervous about how Dani feels about it so, I decide to save it until tomorrow.
WHEN DANI AND I GET to morning mass the next day, my parents, Deacon, Cami, and Carter are all sitting in our normal row, leaving the outside seats for us.
After church, Dani is quiet, sitting in the passenger seat of my truck with her lip between her teeth, like she does when she’s deep in thought or concentrating on something. It’s the same look she makes when she’s working on the perfect composition of a photograph. Normally, I love it, but today, it has me on edge.
Taking her hand, I bring it to my mouth and kiss it. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Have you talked to Deacon yet about Alex and the restaurant?” she asks, pensively.
“Yeah.” I know she wants more of an answer than that, but not now. Not on our way to family dinner. I meant to talk to her about it this morning, but I didn’t have time. Or maybe I just pussed out.
“Good.” Dani sighs in relief. “I was worried you hadn’t. I just don’t want it to be weird at dinner.”
“It won’t be,” I tell her, giving her hand another reassuring kiss. It won’t be, because Deacon and I both know that disrupting Sunday dinner is the top of our mama’s shit list. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
She looks over at me, giving me a small smile and a nod.
“What if Deacon wasn’t onboard with the restaurant?” I ask her, needing to get some of it out in the open before we get to the Big House, just in case Deacon decides to open his big fat mouth.
“What do you mean?” Turning in her seat, she faces me with a look of concern.
“I mean, if Deacon didn’t want to go through with the restaurant, but I did.”
She sits, thinking for a minute. Her brows furrow and I can tell by the look on her face, she doesn’t like it. Fear spikes in me, bringing me back to my realization from yesterday. If she doesn’t want me to go through with the restaurant, I won’t. Her approval and happiness is of utmost importance to me.
“This is something you really want?” she asks.
“Yeah, something I’ve wanted for a long time. And it’s not like I’ll have an opportunity like this again, Dani. Alex has a building. Do you know how much money would go into securing a spot like she’s inherited? I might not be able to save up that kind of money before I’m fifty.”
“Then, I say go for it.” She gives me another smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You sure?”
“Of course. You’d be in favor of me following my dreams. Of course, I want you to follow yours. But,” she starts, pausing. “Don’t fight about this with Deacon. Don’t let a restaurant come between you.”
“We won’t. I won’t,” I assure her. I know Deacon isn’t happy about the idea, but I think once everything is said and done, he’ll realize what a great opportunity it is. Maybe he’ll even be on board, eventually. “But let’s keep it between us for now, okay?”
She looks at me for a second longer, before nodding her head in agreement. “Okay.”
Sunday dinner goes off without a hitch, just like any other Sunday. We eat too much food, watch football, take naps, and go our separate ways as the evening begins to settle.
Deacon and I both show up at Grinders later that night, like normal, but we don’t say much. The few words we do exchange are business related. I figure it’s better to let a sleeping dragon lie so, I don’t bring up Alex or New Orleans. He was the one who said he wasn’t finished with the conversation. I figure if he has something else to say on the matter, he’ll say it.
The next morning, Dani gets up bright and early and takes off for the day to a photo session she has scheduled. She’s been filling her time with small projects on the side and she’s done some shoots for a local newspaper and one of the campus magazines. She’s also done a few more freelance jobs for Southern Style magazine.
I’m glad she stays so busy. It makes me feel less guilty for all the hours I spend at the restaurant. And all the hours I know I’ll be spending in New Orleans. If this thing with Alex goes through, there’s a good chance I’ll need to find some temporary housing in Nola. I know the hours Deke and I put into Grinders and Pockets in the beginning stages. Some weeks, we’d only get a few hours of sleep. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
After coffee, I sit down at the desk in our living room and pull out my laptop in preparation for my scheduled phone call with Alex. Our meeting on Friday was to lay out a business plan and Mr. Wells, our silent investor, was totally onboard.
I received a text last night from Alex, letting me know that, if I’m ready to get started, she can have a contract drawn up by mid-week. I had initially told her I might need more time, because I thought I could get Deacon onboard. But after our last conversation, I know he’s definitely out, and I don’t want to waste any time.
When my phone rings beside me, I answer it and turn on the speaker.
“Alex,” I say, opening my laptop and firing up my email.
“Micah,” she replies and I can hear papers shuffling in the background. “You sound chipper for an early morning phone meeting. I’ve always had you pegged for a night owl.”
“I’m kind of both, an early bird and a night owl. Owning two restaurants will do that to you. Not to mention, high school football. Coach was always relentless with the early morning practices. I think I’ve been conditioned for a six a.m. wake-up call for the last fifteen years.”
“Ah, yes. High school football practice.” She sighs. “Those were the days. Guys in tight pants and with no shirts, all sweaty, running up and down the field. Y’all were the only reason the cheer squad practiced in the mornings during summer break. ‘Cause God knows nothing else could’ve got our lazy asses out of bed before dawn.”
I laugh, remembering.
“Who
was it back then? Lisa? Jill? Julie?”
I laugh again, remembering even more.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, honestly.
“Too many to count or keep track of, right?”
“It’s just been a while.” I give her a smile and shake my head, hoping she’ll just drop this memory lane game and get down to business. I like to reminisce with the best of them, but I know where this is going and I don’t want to go there. Not anymore. And especially not with her. If this is going to work, we’ve got to keep things as professional as possible.
“It hasn’t been that long.” The tone of her voice dropping and insinuation dripping like honey. Alex always was a queen bee, luring unsuspecting victims to her hive.
“Have you talked to Mr. Wells?” I ask, bluntly cutting her off.
I’m not getting stung.
She clears her throat and immediately switches back to her professional voice. “Yes, we spoke on Saturday. He met me briefly at the building and brought one of his guys with him to check the integrity of the structure. He seemed pleased with what he saw and with our proposed business plan. He’s willing to meet both of us there again this Friday to go over the contract.”
“This Friday?” I ask, my heart speeding up at the realization of what I’m about to agree to—going into business with Alex Collins. Do I really want to do this? Am I making a mistake? Deacon’s warnings are ringing loudly in my head.
“You do want this, right?” Alex asks. “Your restaurant experience, paired with my business know-how, it’s a sure thing, Micah. We’ll be turning a profit in record time. I project an eighteen-month turn around on investment. If things go as well as I think they will, we could buy Mr. Wells out in two years and be partners, just the two of us.”
Her just the two of us has an emphasis on it that I don’t like, but all of the other things she had to say sound good. I want that. A successful restaurant in New Orleans. And not just New Orleans, but the French Quarter, a place brimming with culture and flavor. It’s the ideal place for a restaurant. A chance to try something completely different from Grinders and Pockets.
“This Friday.” This time, it’s not a question, it’s an agreement. “What time do you want me there?”
“I’M GLAD YOU’RE IN EARLY.” Deacon walks through the kitchen of Grinders like a man on a mission. I did come in early. I figured since things have been so tense between us for the last week, I’d make an effort to smooth it over. With our lives being so intertwined, it makes things fucking difficult when we don’t get along.
“Thought I’d get a jump start on orders for the week,” I tell him, knowing that’ll win me some brownie points, because Deke hates doing the food orders.
Without a glance back or a nod of his head, he grabs a cup of the coffee I brewed earlier. “I need to talk to you before we open.” As he turns to walk out the door, he mentions over his shoulder, “we got word on the insurance settlement for Pockets.”
No “thanks, Micah” or “you da man”, just “we need to talk”, which means he must still be pissed. Or holding a grudge like the fucking immature, overgrown toddler he is.
I may be the younger brother, but Deacon has always been a big kid. And that’s usually one of the things I love most about him. I don’t know why he’s being such a hard ass about this deal with Alex. It makes no sense.
I grab my own cup of coffee and think about going over to the bar and pouring a little Jack in with it to get me through the morning.
When I walk into the office, Deacon is already behind the desk with his laptop open and a serious stare.
“Why the long face?” I ask, trying to break the ice.
“The insurance company has settled,” he says.
“Fucking finally.” I set my coffee cup on the desk and lean back in my chair. “They’ve been dragging their feet. It shouldn’t take a month to decide that there was a fire and that it was an electrical problem and cut us a check.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll still be a while before we get the check, but since we know an amount, we can start planning for the rebuild.” His fingers type quickly on the keyboard. “I’ve already contacted the framers we used on the initial build. I figure if anyone can put it back together, it’ll be them.”
“Hold up,” I say, leaning forward and resting my arms on my knees. “Shouldn’t we discuss this first?”
“What’s to discuss?” Deacon asks, not even looking up from what he’s typing.
“Like, do we even want to rebuild Pockets?”
That gets his attention.
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he asks, his face contorting.
“A legitimate question,” I retort. “The money we get from the insurance settlement could be put into anything. Nothing says we have to put it back into Pockets. We could expand Grinders . . . we could use it for the New Orleans restaurant.” I stop there, letting it hang in the air between us.
If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man.
“What the fuck, Micah?” His lips curls in disgust as he squints his eyes, like he must be seeing things wrong. “You can’t be serious with this shit?”
“I’m serious.” I keep a stone-cold face, standing my ground. I’m not going to let him bully me into backing down. I get a say on what happens to my investment, just like he does.
“We’re rebuilding Pockets,” Deacon says, decisively. “And you’re going to forget all about Alex and her hair brain attempts at luring you into a pipe dream. I swear, I thought you’d wise up to her scam before it was too late, but apparently, I need to put this into simple words for you.” He pauses, placing both hands on the desk and pushing up from his chair. It scrapes across the floor and he locks his eyes on me. I stand, needing to rise to his level, because sitting makes me feel like a child being reprimanded and fuck that. “Alex wants one thing,” he seethes, his lip curling up from anger. “She wants you. She might want your money, too, but more than anything you’re a prize she’s trying to win. She’s a spoiled brat who’s been given things her whole life. This building is all she has to offer you. Don’t let her weasel her way into your life and mess everything up.”
“Mess up what, Deacon?” My own chair flies across the room. “What can Alex honestly mess up?” I ask, using air quotes to get my point across. This is ludicrous and the thought crosses my mind that Deacon is just pissed that I’m doing something he doesn’t want me to. This is a display of authority and fuck if I’m going to let him rule my life.
“Everything.” Deacon’s tone is even. The calmness in his voice causes me to pause. “She’s always wanted you, Micah, and Alex is the kind of girl who stops at nothing to get what she wants. The deal is, she usually doesn’t have to try so hard, but you’ve denied her. So, this is a game to her. She couldn’t get you the way she used to be able to, so she regrouped and now she’s back, danglin’ a carrot in front of you, bankin’ on you takin’ the bait.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe Alex does have ulterior motives, but so what? I want that building. I want a restaurant in New Orleans.
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I tell him, reaching back and righting the chair behind me, leaning against the back of it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I won’t let her win. I know what I want. She can’t bullshit me if I see right through her.”
“You don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”
“I do. I’m gettin’ myself into a prime location in New Orleans, in the French Quarter. You should see the building, Deke. If you did, you’d change your mind.”
“I. Don’t. Want. To. See. The. Fucking. Building.” Each word is punctuated for emphasis.
“Fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I won’t mention it again.”
“Good,” he says, straightening up and smoothing back his hair, like he’s won the war.
I said I wouldn’t mention it again, not that I’m changing my mind.
We both walk out of
the office and busy ourselves with odd tasks until the rest of the staff start filtering into the restaurant. Joe shows up first, thank God, filling up the place with aromas and noises from the kitchen. When Kara comes to prep for the lunch rush, she turns on the sound system and soon the fight with Deacon is forced into the back of my mind. For now.
The crowd is crazy today, must be a full moon or something, because usually we have a slump between lunch and dinner, but not today. The drinks started flowing way before five and the lunch rush blended into the dinner rush. I haven’t even had a chance to check on Dani and see if she made it back from her photoshoot. I miss her.
Long days like this make me question opening a new restaurant. As much as I want it, I don’t want to do anything to damage the relationship that Dani and I are building. It’s still new and I’m still figuring this shit out. I’ve never been in a serious, committed relationship before. Everything before her was fun and games. I was getting my kicks and so were the girls I was with. Valerie was probably my most permanent . . . fling, if that’s what you want to call it. We were nothing more than fuck buddies, even though she tried to force me into more. I never gave in, always holding my ground and pushing her back. When Dani showed up, it changed everything. Valerie tried to stake her claim, but I let her know I wasn’t a piece of property, she didn’t own me.
